


(blessed are) those who mourn

by ZOMBIEDOG



Series: GIFT FICS [29]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: (which is unlikely), ANYWAYS enjoy this cyrod fic yeehaw, Gift Fic, M/M, Other, but uhh this is also a gift to a friend of mine who made me fall in love with this pairing, do i care - also no, does this make sense - no, officially my last transformers fic ill publish here unless i return to the fandom, shout out to the tf fandom for dealing with me as long as they did, will only miss certain parts of it ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZOMBIEDOG/pseuds/ZOMBIEDOG
Summary: for they shall be comforted
Relationships: Cyclonus/Rodimus, Cyclonus/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: GIFT FICS [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1190569
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	(blessed are) those who mourn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Of_Nyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Nyon/gifts).



The history of Nyon, much like its people, was deep and rich, the homeland of countless traditions and practices, each as various and vast as the frames of the mecha the city housed. From speedsters to fliers, to anyone between, each frame was unique and different from the one that came before it, but the one thing they all shared was that they generated heat. When thinking of Nyon, many thought of the burning suns and the equally boiling temperatures, but Nyon was also capable of being viciously cold. Temperatures sinking so low, it was common for mechs to shake icicles free from their frames, engines revving in discontentment, and usually cranking their internal temperatures up even higher. Yes, Nyon's temperatures could be deadly, but there was a sense of community amongst these various mechs. And on the coldest nights, when not even the thickest blankets could keep them warm, mechs of all types would come together and cuddle close, engines purring and amicable chatting echoing into the night, cold long forgotten in the light of shared warmth and companionship.

But not a spark knew what those cold nights and sweltering days were like when you were alone, the last survivor from your city. Not a single spark knew the burden Rodimus carried on his shoulders, the faces that haunted his processor when he tried his best to recharge, hidden away in a dark room with nothing but an old blanket for comfort. Not a _single spark_ knew how Rodimus didn't even cry anymore, he had mourned as much as he could, repressing his guilt and anguish, as war was no time to mourn them properly, all those he had to leave behind. And as the war continued on, he was continuously haunted by those faces, those voices, those memories. The life his people could have had, and the one they all had lost.

And as Rodimus sat on the bridge, surrounded by the countless stars, he allowed his processor to wander. Coolant slowly pooled in his optics, servos trembling as he held an old, tattered blanket tighter to his frame, the tips of his spoiler left to the bitter cold of the empty room. Magnus, nor Megatron, knew of the Prime's whereabouts and likely assumed he was either drinking himself into a stupor at Swerve's or crashing in Drift's hab. And for once, Rodimus didn't give a single slag about what either of the mech's thought of him, too caught up in the memories of what once was and what could've been, if only his city could have escaped the brutality that manifested itself into Zeta Prime. And somewhere in the back of Rodimus' processor, a voice whispered ' _perhaps not even_ Unicron _would have been so cruel_ '. He silently agreed.

A familiar set of ped-steps brought Rodimus from his thoughts, causing the mech to glance over his shoulders and ex-vent in relief when he realized it was just Cyclonus. It always slightly amused the prime that he could never brood for long before his adoring conjunx would track him down. And no matter how foul his mood, just the softest brushes of his conjunx EM-field was enough to soothe the speedster. And Rodimus couldn't help but admire how silently the warrior moved, or how gentle his movements were as he sat down beside him, a wing brushing close to the speedster's own spoiler. And he was proud of himself for not jumping out of his frame when the jet lightly let his clawed servo fall to rest on Rodimus' shoulder.

"I'd ask how you found me, but honestly, I'm not sure I wanna know..." Rodimus tried to joke, dermas twisting up in a not-quite smile, those softly blue optics still shining with unshed coolant. He turned his helm back towards the stars, ex-venting heavily as he offlined his optics, not willing to witness the silent grief on his companions' faceplates. No matter how the old warrior tried to play it cool and cold, he was quite soft when it came to those he cared about, and Rodimus was the only mech who completely and totally owned his spark. And to know he was in such unspoken pain? It nearly snuffed the warrior's spark.

"My Prime," the warrior crooned, pulling Rodimus close, holding him to his chassis as he peered down into those optics he adored, "you have never been a mech of mourning or melancholy, and so, I shall shoulder your burden and mourn for you. Mourn your innocence, your people and city, _everything_ you lost to a symbol of god wearing a mask of peace with blood on his glossa." Cyclonus held him tighter, allowing his smaller Conjunx to cuddle into his frame, to feel the vibrations of his soothing purrs. "You'll not be alone in your sorrows, not as long as a spark flares in this chassis."

And as silence bloomed around them, coolant flowed freely from Rodimus' optics as he began to grieve his people, his history, his home. And Cyclonus was steadfast, holding him close and offering his warmth and protection, shielding Rodimus from the universe judgemental gaze, if only temporarily. Even the strongest of Prime's was never meant to shoulder such things alone and to think his prime had held this in for so long, mourning in only the company of the stars, Cyclonus had never met a braver mech. But now, his prime was here, in his arms, and he wouldn't have to shoulder this alone any longer. Once, in a chance meeting a millennia ago, Cyclonus had been saved by the mere fact Rodimus existed, and ever since, he had been indebted to this beautiful mech before him. He would hold him for all of _eternity_ if it meant his prime would never have to face this alone again.

He had known his prime for 15 lives and loved him in each, but _this_ time, he would love him so fiercely that _nothing_ would ever dare to hurt His prime ever again.


End file.
